


Usurper

by LadyBinary



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angry Sex, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dom/sub, Humiliation, M/M, Mind Games, Mindfuck, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rape/Non-con Elements, Role Reversal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:29:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27565306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBinary/pseuds/LadyBinary
Summary: Emptiness is unbecoming of a God. Need is for the *weak.* An Emperor does not submit; there is no pleasure but that which *he* controls.This - ? This is *nothing.* The fickle chemistry of mortal flesh.*Nothing* more.--DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. Reluctacon/resistacon, somewhat tongue-in-cheek - Prime is *not* eager to be topped, and makes quite a show of protest, but it's clear from his POV that the only real harm is to his ego.
Relationships: Horde Prime (She-Ra)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Featuring, as an OC, [a younger version of Horde Prime](https://twitter.com/evounopandemony/status/1285321130690129922) conceived by the amazingly talented Evouno. For those unfamiliar, think of Young Prime as a cross between Horde Prime and Double Trouble - a bit softer, more playful, more flexible in sexuality and gender expression, less emotionally distant. He serves as a "communal OC" on my Prime-smut Discord server, where he is affectionately referred to as "the brat".

He stirs, groans. Something is  _ very  _ wrong. What in the Void could have rendered  _ him  _ unconscious?

More importantly…  _ where is the hivemind? _

His arms are wrenched behind his back, bound by something that hums and crackles - his own Horde technology, from the feel of it. He cracks open his secondary eyes first. Ultraviolet, infrared. Nothing amiss. He appears to be seated on his own throne, in the vast, empty throne room. Is there something on his head? - Is there something  _ in  _ his head? This fuzziness at the edges…

\- Ah,  _ fuck.  _

He opens his primary eyes, and huffs in contempt as the  _ brat  _ steps into view. Of  _ course  _ his younger self is the one responsible for this insubordination. The impudent churl had been making trouble from the day he was mistakenly thawed - intruding on his plans, distracting his clones from their work, and altogether creating a  _ mess.  _ This young one cares nothing for peace and order. It pains him to think he had ever been so…  _ chaotic.  _

“Good  _ morning,  _ sunshine,” coos the brat, leaning close to his face. “Hope you don’t mind - I borrowed a telepathic dampener from your labs. It really helps clear your head.”

Prime gives a venomous growl. “I clearly should have launched you from an airlock  _ weeks  _ ago.”

The young one has the nerve to  _ laugh.  _ “Not so loud, ‘Brother’... someone might investigate. I’m sure you’d hate to be seen in such a  _ compromised  _ position.” Four eyes, like his own, rove down his bound figure with a pointed smirk. “You’re supposed to be all-powerful, after all.”

He glances down at himself, and curses under his breath. All but his skirts are missing - and those, with their generous thigh slits, seem to cover far less without the tights underneath. He’s never been one for modesty; his usual robes show plenty of skin - but it’s the  _ principle  _ of the thing. He has an  _ image  _ to uphold. 

An image of power, and control… an image that would require untold amounts of aggravating memory wipes to clean up, if anyone saw him weakened like this. That nuisance gives him a headache just to think about. Krytis all over again…

He glares at the younger Prime, but grudgingly lowers his voice. “...All right, what do you  _ want?” _

The brat settles his hip on the arm of the throne, and looks down at him with an expression that would be mistaken for concern by anyone else. “Hmm… all business, as usual. When did I get so  _ boring?”  _

The young one leans in, and cups Prime’s cheek with one hand.  _ His  _ move. …Since around that age, come to think of it. 

"It's just  _ tragic _ seeing you this rigid, 'Brother'. I only want to help," the other purrs. His evil smirk makes clear that, whatever his intentions, they are  _ far  _ from benevolent. "You hardly remember how to enjoy yourself." 

"I have my entertainment." Prime narrows his eyes, as suspicion rises in his chest. "I'm aware you've been  _ sampling _ them."

"Oh, more than a sample. Your Chosen are such sweet things… so eager to please a Prime." The young one grins broadly for emphasis. Slowly, he slides his hand down. "...And yet,  _ you _ hardly use their abilities… not on  _ your  _ body, anyway." 

That suspicion is beginning to crystallize. "...How I  _ fuck _ is not your concern," he snaps. He will not give this upstart the satisfaction of even  _ acknowledging  _ the gentle claws grazing down his neck. 

"Certainly not. I'm talking about  _ being  _ fucked." Said upstart now slides off the arm of the throne into the seat with him, draping himself against Prime's body. "Telepathic pleasure is so convenient… but when was the last time you felt it with your very own nerve endings?" 

Slowly, silently, Prime snakes a cable around from behind his back. He suppresses a smile of triumph as the over-affectionate cub comes within range. The young one has not yet adopted the headpiece, and will not anticipate the strike. He need only distract him. "Not since I understood the concept of  _ dignity,  _ little 'brother'. Not since I knew what it means to be a true Emperor. - Of course,  _ you _ won't comprehend that for centuries."

The cable curves behind the usurper's shoulder, unseen. He has selected a particular cocktail for the job. On lesser creatures, it acts as a neurotoxin; among his own species, it is known for its sedative properties - perhaps with some interesting side effects, depending how long the victim stays conscious. A triple dose should be plenty to knock this brat senseless. Then, call in a single attendant to free his bound arms, wipe the clone's memory… and afterwards, rid himself of this nuisance for good. Preferably with a laser cannon set to disintegrate. Yes,  _ that  _ would be more satisfying than any pleasures of the flesh. 

"So it's been quite some time for you…" the other coos. He presses himself forward with a lascivious wriggle against Prime's bare upper body. "And this host vessel… just a few decades old, from the looks of it…?" A clawed hand gives his chest a firm squeeze. "Could it be…?" 

Prime suppresses a rumbling growl. Just another moment to aim the needle point at the base of his insolent neck… 

"Oh, my poor 'Brother'... I  _ know  _ how much you need this, once in a while… no wonder you’ve become this way." Those claws begin to trace a distracting path down his front, following the lines of his abdomen towards his inner hip, as the younger one breathes into his ear. "This body's never been  _ fucked…" _

At that moment, the cable strikes. 

Or rather, it tries to. His younger self snatches the cable in midair, just an inch from its target - grasping it just behind the point, as one would a venomous snake. The upstart leans back, just far enough to show his face spreading in a wicked grin... and before Prime can do more than let his eyes widen in shock, the needle slams directly into the side of his neck. 

Prime wrenches up with a vicious snarl as pain ignites along his carotid artery. The Lightforsaken brat doesn't let go, still gripping the side of his head as he keeps pressure on the cable with his other hand.  _ Void! _ \- Had he already been this  _ strong, _ even then…? 

"I'd hoped you might pull that… it'll help you  _ relax," _ smirks the usurper. The image of his face starts to swim, as he leans in again to whisper: "It’ll help you remember… how much you  _ crave  _ being touched like this.”

The cable is finally released; in a moment, those gentle claws resume their path down his inner hip. A sensual prickle spreads in their wake. Within his boiling fury, a few tiny bubbles of panic begin to form - and, among them, more than a few sparks of thrill. Not that he would admit to either of the latter two…  _ especially  _ not in front of this brat.

"Insolent  _ fool!  _ How  _ dare  _ y...o-oohhh." The drug's warmth hits his brainstem in a flood. His snarl trails off into a breathy groan.

"How many times have you used this on our Brothers, hmm…? They're always so  _ delighted _ to laud your special talents." The other’s voice is beginning to flange at the edges. Tingling warmth spreads from the breath on his ear - and from the path of those claws, as they graze beneath the slit panels of his skirts and begin to slide up his inner thigh. Unbidden, a longing ache is beginning to pulse between his hips; he silently curses that insubordination as he bites back another groan, but the tail of it escapes his throat. The usurper gives a low, wicked laugh.

“Don’t worry, ‘Brother’... since your current vessel is new to this…” the distorted voice murmurs in his ear, “I promise I’ll be _gentle.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some [spicy art](https://twitter.com/evounopandemony/status/1312510914365546497) by Evouno! (Which may or may not have inspired this fic.)
> 
> And one of mine, 'cause Zaddy in [just the skirts](https://imgur.com/a/3PsCMJD) is delicious.


	2. Chapter 2

Mutiny. Insubordination.  _ Treason.  _

If his nerves were Horde soldiers, Prime would cast them into the Pool of Purification. But who is there to punish, when his own body fails to obey? 

That insolent hand has slipped beneath his skirts, now making its way up the inner crease of his hip - which gives an involuntary twitch. This _upstart,_ now straddling his lap... this _brat._ How does he know _exactly_ where his most sensitive - no, that much is obvious. His own memories of being touched like this are long since clouded over, several host vessels past; but his younger self, _profligate_ that he is, knows the pleasures of the flesh from all directions. 

Of course, the brat holds no regard for the consequences of such looseness. Naive fool, letting mortal clones get  _ cocky  _ with him… in more ways than one.

The younger one purrs in his ear. In the haze of Prime's own sedative, the sound loops over itself in a reverb through the bass register, wrapping around his skull. He tries to turn his head away, but the muscles are slow to respond, resulting in not much better than a loll. At the moment, the distracting sensations along his inner hip erode his focus. Gentle claws steal closer to his sheath with teasing little strokes, each time nearly grazing the slit before pulling back. He feels his core clench with each approach, either in apprehension… or anticipation. 

His jaw mimics the tension. If the brat insists on this disrespect, he could at least not be such a  _ tease  _ about it - 

The roving fingers find their target. Prime lets slip a low hiss of a gasp, taken by surprise as that gentle touch strokes down the line of his closed slit - gathering the hint of arousal that seeps through. At the same time, something warm moves down the side of his neck. It takes a moment to register soft lips, and breath. Another sensation, stroking his face on the opposite side - a hand -  _ petting  _ him? 

He gives a weak growl, willing his mouth to form words. "The Void… do you think… you're  _ doing?" _

"Oh, dear…" the younger one chuckles. "If you've forgotten what  _ foreplay  _ is, it's even worse than I thought."

"Don't treat me… like some mewling…  _ innocent," _ spits Prime through clenched teeth. His breath catches at the teasing little flicks up and down the line of his sheath. "I -  _ hhk!  _ \- I want this farce  _ over  _ with."

"So you do  _ want _ this farce." The cocky grin in the young one's voice is evident, even with his face hidden in the crook of Prime's neck. He continues before Prime can object. "But I wouldn't insult you with a  _ quickie,  _ o Exalted one. Your Imperial Majesty deserves… to  _ savor _ each moment."

He draws out the last few words, as his touch meanders down… with  _ infuriating _ slowness... behind the sheath, to the hollow where the slit parts more easily. 

Here, it takes a teeth-grinding clench of Prime's jaw to suppress an undignified noise. Playful fingers tease at the sensitive skin, dipping just slightly into an opening that is  _ far _ too responsive to that touch. The side effects of this drug, on his more resilient clones, give no end of amusement - but his own vessel is enhanced in strength; he has never himself succumbed. 

Admittedly, he has never tried a dose that would down a rampaging packbeast. Until today.

Sparks of sensation dance outwards; as he tenses, the young one purrs amusement against his throat. Void, this may turn out to be even more humiliating than he'd imagined. 

No. He will  _ not _ show weakness. The brat doesn't deserve the satisfaction of seeing him respond - regardless of how accommodating this traitorous flesh may be. And traitorous it is, already flush with the heat pooling in his core. The usurper presses forward, all sinew and lewd writhe against his own leaden frame - cooing sweetly in his ear, caressing his neck and upper chest - as one claw oh-so-delicately presses up, and in. 

There is no ignoring  _ this  _ sensation. His core gives another sharp clench as the sparks multiply throughout. He squeezes his eyes shut, working to keep his breathing steady. It is the only response he can control; already, that invading digit meets slick arousal as it pushes deeper. 

“Oh,  _ honey _ …” purrs his younger self. False sympathy drips from the wicked edge of his voice. “You really do  _ need  _ this, don’t you...?” 

“Will you… shut up...” growls Prime. It is not his proudest retort. This haze is slowing his thoughts. Or, perhaps, it is the way the usurper pushes in with a second finger, and suddenly it seems as if the air in his lungs has dissolved…

Warm breath nuzzles into the side of his neck. The other’s hand is now the only thing holding his head upright; he has little strength to keep it from falling against the padded back of his throne. The entirety of his will is focused on holding his throat closed, so that his only sound is a choked  _ “Ngh -”  _ as his crux clamps down around the shock. Unused inner muscles flutter and clench - pathetic,  _ fickle  _ flesh, clinging to its lewd attacker - sensation blooms and flares inside, as the fingers begin to move - he stifles the low groan building in his chest - his inner walls clutch eagerly, pulsing with heat at even this gentle penetration - his mouth drops open - mutiny - treason -  _ betrayal _ \- 

“Poor ‘Brother’... you’re so  _ tight, _ ” the other murmurs sweetly. A hot, wet tongue slides up the length of Prime’s twitching ear. “This must feel like your first time… it’s all right. I’ll take care of you...”

His voice is no more than a choked, dazed whisper: “F-fuck… you…!”

A low laugh sounds at his ear. “Oh… not  _ quite  _ what I had in mind, your Majesty...” comes the silky reply, as those two fingers shove deep inside. His entire body twitches in response; a strangled gasp wrenches itself from his chest. Then, without warning, the fingers withdraw.

The sudden emptiness inside him is a clench of shock through his core. And, oh, yes - the brat was  _ listening  _ for his groan of frustration, suppressed though it may be. His wicked laugh makes that abundantly clear. 

A powerful grip closes around either flank, and pulls. The usurper yanks his hips to the edge of the throne, letting his bound upper body drop unceremoniously backward - a motion which yields cramps of protest in his wrenched shoulders. He shoots a venomous glare up at his younger self, as that licentious grip moves to his inner thighs, and forces them apart. 

“Don’t worry, sunshine…” grins the young one. “...I won’t tease you much longer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some [more art](https://imgur.com/a/7pTl7nC) \- this time my own - not specifically of this fic, but very much the same vibe. Featuring Young Prime top left, Double Trouble bottom right, and a devoted clone who just wants to show Zaddy his love. <3


	3. Chapter 3

The drugs are to blame, he knows. This tension inside, this _emptiness_ \- it is an automatic physical reaction, nothing more. 

_Nothing_ more. 

His skirts, now drawn aside, offer little more than decoration at his waist. His bare thighs itch to snap closed... but doing so now would only clamp them around the usurper's hips. No. An Emperor is stronger than his fickle flesh. He will not give this one the satisfaction of a struggle. His younger self would _love_ to watch him squirm; of this he can be certain, for he himself would relish it in reverse. A savory mental image indeed, to wrap his claws around that impudent throat and feel him _writhe_ beneath - 

His fantasy, as well as his breath, is interrupted as a palm closes firm around his sheath. He stifles a groan as his nerves spasm; the near-painful pressure makes it all too apparent how much he'd been enjoying those thoughts. 

"Don't tell me you're already plotting revenge?" the brat coos above him. Slowly, deliberately, clawed fingers massage the restrained swell of his closed sheath. This time, there is no stifling his strangled noise. The haze is seeping further in with each breath, multiplying sensation into a vibrant, kaleidoscopic swirl of feeling. As much as his wrenched shoulders are beginning to ache, as do the bound wrists wedged beneath his spine... neither contend with the sonnet of pain and pleasure now melding in his crux. The honeyed voice continues: "Ah, dear 'Brother', always looking to the future. You must learn to enjoy the moment, once in a while."

The lifting of that pressure is a welcomed relief. With a flourish, the usurper parts his own robes, and casts them off. They slip to the floor in a pool of silken fabric. Good riddance. Nudity is far more elegant than the abomination of that tasteless past design of his; the other's sculpted body is, after all, nearly a mirror of his own Perfection. Like Prime himself, his junior stands well above the frame of a baseline clone - larger, stronger… _fuller_. 

Yes; there is no disgrace in admiring his reflection. Every inch of it. 

The usurper thrums enjoyment as he shifts his hips forward. Pliant, prehensile, dripping with viscous arousal, that impressive length slides along a slit that nearly throbs in response. It moves like a massive tongue, sending a wash of heat and pleasure blooming through over-sensitized skin, merging with that ache deeper inside - Light and Shadows, the _strength_ of these _sensations -_

Chemistry, Prime reminds himself angrily. _Nothing_ more. He exhales in a hiss, forcing his ragged breathing to slow. His swimming head and unbidden pulsing is, if anything, a testament to his skill as a scientist. An answer to the age-old question, of unstoppable forces and immovable objects: it seems a God can indeed create a drug so potent that even He must succumb to it. 

Hands move over his skin, sliding up from his hips, over his abdomen and chest - leaving prickles of warmth in their wake. The young one’s firm body grinds forward. That swell of heat presses close against his crux, squirming - its slick fluids mingling with his own arousal - now indistinguishable from each other - _corrupted_. As fingers stroke up the sides of his neck, Prime lifts his head with a low growl. The hands slide up to the sides of his face and squeeze there, a firm, intimate grip. 

He narrows his eyes through the haze, glaring up at the one leaning down over him. Is the brat trying for a mind meld? That would be impossible, with the telepathic dampeners in effect. _Go on,_ he grits silently, ignoring the rising pace of his heartbeat - go on, come close enough to _bite -_ those four eyes so much like his own, now inches away, gazing down with a half-lidded look that could _almost_ be mistaken for affection -

The usurper closes his eyes, and the gap between their lips.

Prime’s first instinct is to yank his face away; but the dual-handed hold overcomes his sapped strength. He sputters, too shocked to bite those soft lips pressed against his. “How _dare_ you -” he attempts. The muffled words emerge barely intelligible through the kiss. The young one only tightens his grip, and kisses him... slowly... _sweetly._

Anger boils over into rage. His chest swells in a rumbling growl; he tries to snap his teeth forward, but the haze has dulled his reflexes, and his mouth now blooms with the same swirling pleasure as his core. The brat easily pulls out of reach, and smirks down at his wide-eyed fury. “So _that’s_ where you draw the line, hmm?” 

“Don’t… _toy_ with me… Lightf'saken _pervert!”_ spits Prime, fangs bared. It is a battle to form each word; distracting sensation still lingers on his sluggish tongue. Shallow breaths cut through his speech. “You _dare_ … try to treat me… like a _lover!”_

“My poor 'Brother'… when you resist me, you only resist yourself...” the young one coos. He strokes his elder’s face with his thumbs. “Don’t you understand? I _remember_ what you’ve long forgotten. I still _have_ what you’ve lost.”

He leans closer. Is that _pity_ in his gaze? 

“I know,” he whispers, “...what you _need.”_

For a moment, there is silence. They stare at each other intently. Then, Prime gives a savage growl, and wrenches his head out of that grip. The motion sends every neuron spinning, his vision churning, but his discomfort is worth this small show of defiance.

“Need… is for the weak…” he snarls. "...the _pathetic.”_

It is not some helpless _desire_ that stokes this inner ache. Emptiness is unbecoming of a God. Whatever he desires, he takes - _conquers._ There is no pleasure but that which he controls: both in his thralls, and in himself. 

Gentle fingers slide over his throat, and slowly wrap around. “Yes… you’d _rather_ have my cruelty, wouldn’t you?” the young one purrs. The grip tightens until his breath struggles in his throat. “After all, this wouldn’t _mean_ anything in that case… you could blame it all away…"

The hand bears down; Prime’s mouth drops open as his breath cuts off entirely. Sparks of light begin to form at the edges of his vision - his lungs burn as they fight to expand, but the other's warm weight presses down on his chest - his pulse thumps against his sternum - this burning, this _ache,_ may the Shadows take these malfunctioning nerves, for it only merges with the cursed ache in his core - that burning _want_ , stoked higher by each throb of heat as the other aligns against his opening - 

"Resist, then… claim you need nothing…" murmurs his rival's voice, lips soft against his ear. "Return to your high throne… where you care more for being exalted, than being _loved.”_

The whisper is nearly inaudible over the rush of his pulse. Soft breath travels up over his cheek, to his twitching lips. “...Yes… you _want_ me to hurt you.”

Lips cover his own, cutting off what little there is of his breath. The kiss is decadent, passionate, forcing open his mouth; the invading tongue is nearly as consuming as the slick pressure that spreads his opening. Every neuron yearns to sink into that captivating sensation. It curls along pathways of heat, clutching inside the emptiness - that vestigial, useless void - his traitor flesh, pulsing, fluttering, _yielding_ \- 

The hand at his throat releases. 

"...But I’m not _giving_ you what you want," purrs that _obnoxious_ brat, as Prime sucks in a ragged breath. "I’m giving you what you _need."_

The shock as he fills his lungs sends him reeling - his faltering nerves burst back to life all through his body - and, in that moment, his younger self pushes forward. Against his gasp, the usurper exhales a decadent sigh: "...And what you _deserve,_ o Exalted 'Brother'." 

Slowly, the hot swell sinks inside. 

"…To be sweetly… _lovingly…_ _conquered_."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double length finale! 
> 
> I assume I don't need to CW cursing in an explicit smut, but lotta F-bombs in this chapter just to play with the myriad of different uses of the word. :P
> 
> For bonus points, have some doodle. I wanted to draw Zaddy in [just the skirts.](https://imgur.com/uSeDO6g) :>

A harsh gasp fills empty lungs, as harsh heat fills his void. It is a wild, desperate sound. The surge of feeling seems to multiply in on itself - the air in his raw throat, the _fullness_ inside - shock, pain, his own dizzy heartbeat - pleasure. _Pleasure._

By the Shadows, it feels... so intense, so unbearable… so _good._

His spine arches back over his bound wrists as nerves reignite, reeling with sensation. The usurper’s girth pushes deeper, spreading him wide - penetrating him with slow, measured, _inevitable_ force - and his drug-heavy muscles refuse all struggle against it. He manages no more than a shudder beneath the other’s firm weight, even as his nerves churn with conflicted signals. 

The thrust hits home, and a ragged moan claws free.

“Careful, dear Brother.” His rival’s voice is a purr against his lips as he presses in. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want your attendants to come see you _quivering_ like this…”

“S-ilence... you... little _worm_...” Prime gasps out, with difficulty. His halting breath cuts through half-slurred words as that fullness withdraws, with agonizing slowness. “I... am _not..._ quivgkk-!”

A hand closes over his sheath, and _squeezes._ Pain flares out in a wave, intermingled with that of the accompanying _merciless_ thrust.

“Rudeness seems _unwise_ for one in your… _position,_ ” smirks the young upstart, driving forward against his hips. Prime’s mouth drops open at the shock of sensation. In this disorienting haze, each signal blends together in a wild cacophony, all along the pathways from his crux up to his wrenched-back shoulders - as if his entire body is being flooded with high-amplitude electric noise. Eyes squeezed shut, lips twitching in a silent shout, he strains to wrench his face and body back under control - the _force_ in his depths is overwhelming - it seems almost unfair - that this vestigial part of him have the same genetic design as any of his kin - the same _weakness_ to the breathtaking proportions of a Prime. _His_ proportions.

He somehow manages to close his jaw, shoving every ounce of will into his refusal to satisfy the taunts of his younger self. Through clenched teeth, he grits, “You - will - _burn -_ for this.”

“Yes, yes. I’m sure you’re already plotting my slow, torturous demise.” The brat grins, holding that grip as he sinks inside again. “That is… if you can find a method of torture I don’t find _titillating.”_

Disoriented nerves send out sparks of wild, searing sensation. Overpowering pain, breathless pleasure, and that swirling haze of his own chemical attack, all join forces to _destroy_ his taut control - _conspiring_ against his dignity. His own swell is straining with all its might to emerge, but the grip holds his sheath firmly closed. The fullness _aches_ inside him - restrained, denied release - each pulse pressing through his inner walls, against the other’s unyielding heat. Another strangled groan slips from his throat. The usurper gives a purr of smug satisfaction - damn him. _Damn_ him.

Claws rake up his body. Their paths flare with warmth, pressed hard enough to mark his skin, yet the lines bloom with tingling pleasure instead of pain - in a moment, hands cover either side of his face again - lips take his own, and capture the next escaped noise. Muscled hips roll against his body with the same slow, passionate depth as the kiss. The force inside _pushes_ the air from his lungs - yes, that moan was simple physics, not some sign of submission or pleasure - he will _not_ yield to the firm, toned body undulating against him - he will _not._

Those hands hold his face so sweetly, as his rival fills his senses with each stroke - pumping smoothly, deliberately, drawing it out, damn him, _damn_ him - shadows take this malevolent wretch for letting that smoldering pleasure build and build and _ache_ for more - shadows take the ardent warmth of flowing lips and questing tongue - shadows take this spreading, burning _need._

In this muddled state, he barely manages to snap his teeth at the brush of tongue - too slow a reaction; futile. He exhales a growl of frustration. The brat clearly isn't going to get off him. At least have the starsdamned courtesy of getting him _off!_

“Demanding, aren’t we?” breathe those lips into his. The soft voice is infuriatingly affectionate. “I’ll bet you wouldn’t even have the patience for a little pillow talk. You _brute.”_

"Will you… just…" Prime grits out, "...shut up and _fuck_ me."

The other’s malicious grin is his only warning. "Oh yes. With _pleasure.”_

His rival _rams_ forward, with enough force to shove his upper body against the back of his throne. Stars flare in his vision - whether from the jolt to his head, or the shock in his core, he isn't sure, but his nerves surge into chaos as the onslaught comes again - forcing his breath into ragged gasps - again - _again_. 

He twists his face into his shoulder to stifle the sounds, choking back a curse. The need blazes brighter each moment, tension shuddering through the muscles of his spread thighs. His body claws for its release. At least let it have that, his sole accession. His pride will allow this oncoming precipice, as long as his need never mars his control. He will _not_ cry out, in ecstasy or agony. Not in front of this _impostor_.

Claws dig beneath his headpiece at the nape of his neck, gripping him, wrenching his head back up to face that feral grin - eyes and fangs gleaming - the look he himself often wears in the midst of conquest. Prime bares his own fangs in a snarl, staring up with eyes wide and defiant even as they go unfocused at every impact. 

That _bastard_ has the absolute nerve to _laugh_ \- low and breathy, cut by labored breathing. “Relax, ‘Brother’... it’s all right to give in…” he pants, winding his grip through tightly-coiled cables. “Just this once… our little secret... you can even call me 'Emperor'.”

“You _dare_ \- _debase_ -” growls Prime. He - will - _not -_ yield - 

The usurper’s other hand digs its claws beneath Prime’s thigh, hauling up. His grin broadens. "No? How about 'Daddy'?”

_“Fuck you!”_

It is his last coherent sentence, before his angled hips take the next thrust at full force. 

Climax slams into him, roaring up through his body from crux to brainstem. His nerves _writhe,_ spasming, scattering, melting into slag beneath the sweet flood of release, every flare multiplied by the drug’s roiling storm. A wrenched gasp of “Oh, f _-fuck -”_ escapes unheeded. The grip at his neck yanks back his head to open his throat as the attack mounts, plowing _hard_ into his depth. It is a mercy that his ears roar with his nerves, deafening him to whatever sounds escape him - for composure has gone the way of the empires in his wake - and as his eyes roll back, he feels his twitching lips form “- oh _fuck_ _yes”_ \- and then - “ _FUCK me!”_

Ecstasy obliterates will, as if plunging in claws to rip his surrender from his chest - as if flaying him open from his void to his pounding heart to his throat. With thrust after savage thrust, the stars shatter around him, with him, within him. Powerful hands hold him down as his muscles clench and shudder - rhythmic spasms through his thighs, his hips, his core, his _insides,_ convulsing around the surging heat now twitching in his depths. 

The usurper's hips shudder as well, as they finally slow to a grind against his; he _feels_ rather than hears the decadent groan of pleasure against him. Smug _bastard._

Still gasping, Prime tries to blink his vision back into focus as the rush ebbs from his ears. Weight comes forward to settle over his twitching frame. The grip softens behind his neck; the first sound he manages to make out is the low purr woven into the other's satisfied panting. The blurred room refuses to resolve. Too wrecked for vexation, he gives a low growl and shuts his eyes against the world.

It chafes at his pride to admit, but… stars, he _does_ feel more relaxed, somehow. As if finally relieved of a burden carried for a long, long time. 

Of course, the brat _must_ ruin his moment of peace. "Feeling better, sunshine?" purrs that saccharine voice in his ear. 

"Fuck you," Prime mutters dazedly. The words are listless, drained of venom. 

There is a low chuckle in reply. “That’s not what you were roaring to the heavens a minute ago.”

_...Fuck._

He groans deep in his throat. The pool of purification will be seeing _much_ use over the next few cycles, if anyone overheard such heresy. 

Although… he blinks his eyes open, glancing at the doors to the throne room. All is blessedly still: no attendants peering in to witness his defeat. His _quasi-_ defeat. Technically, he considers muddily, he is still the most powerful being in the universe. He has surrendered to no one… no one but _himself._

Perhaps… perhaps it might be justified, to “relax” occasionally with his younger self. Strictly in private, and on his own terms, of course. Heavy is the head that wears the Universe’s crown, and he is loath to turn down something so effective in releasing tension; is this so different from a particularly thorough spa session, if he is the one who commands it? Well - as long as the brat cooperates. After all, he can hardly grant such elevated privilege to a _clone._

His rival shifts back. The movement inside sends aftershocks of pleasure rippling out as the swell withdraws. He twitches, then allows a throaty exhale, savoring the sensation. It is… a viable arrangement, perhaps. 

“If you speak of this to _no_ one…” he mutters, “I _might_ allow you to live.” 

“I won't breathe a word,” purrs the other. “But I can't promise that from your Chosen.” 

It takes a moment of silent staring before Prime realizes that both the usurper’s hands are braced on the arms of the throne… so the hand stroking his outer thigh...

The brat grins and leans back, extending his arms to his sides - and pulling two flushed clones into view from either side of the throne. “These sweet things have been aching to worship you all their lives,” he coos, nuzzling the nearest clone while stroking the face of the other. “Who would deny that blessing to such devoted servants?”

Both attendants trill and lean into the brat’s touch - fickle, traitorous creatures. As if they can’t tell the difference between him and… well, _himself._ Blast. 

Another clone peers around the throne’s back, lip between his teeth; then two more, panting slightly. The gaggle of servants stare down at Prime’s stripped, trussed-up form with expressions that could only be described as… _hungry._

Prime lets his eyes fall closed again, and exhales. “...Fuck.”

“With deepest joy, Most Perfect Brother,” breathes one attendant at his thigh. Soft lips flutter over his hipbone as multiple hands stroke along his body. “Will you allow this one the honor of going next?”

The smirk in the usurper’s voice is audible. “Patience, boys. You’ll all get your turn… after all...” The voice lowers to his ear, and purrs.

“...He’ll need to make up for a _lot_ of lost time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! If you're in the mood for a Cursed Image, I tried sketching [his o-face...](https://imgur.com/CmKcWMv) xD
> 
> Not planning a sequel/continuation; what the clones will do to him is up to the reader's imagination ;P Although some inspiration may be gleaned from [this arts](https://imgur.com/EP55RML) and its [alternate sketch.](https://imgur.com/25v6a2J)


End file.
